Cortez hated the smell of whorehouses. It was so dishonest. Cheap perfume and stale sweat masking a fruitless search for satisfaction.
Cortez had always preferred torture to sex. He had little interest in the wares the girls were selling. Torture seemed far more honest to him. Just as intimate, but a hundred times more heartfelt and intense. There was so much more invested in torture.
Sex always left him feeling hollow afterwards. Empty, angry and unfulfilled. Torturing someone made him feel like a god. The men and women he was paid to torture came to worship him a little more each time Cortez touched them.
Cortez always thought it strange that in English fucking was politely called 'making love'. He had never made a woman love him by fucking her. He had made many women and men love him through torture. It wasn't long before they looked to please his every whim. To confide in him their deepest and most dirty secrets. Things they wouldn't even tell their closest friends and lovers, they would whisper into his ear between the pain filled sobs of shame. The timid admissions that lovers make to each other during pillow talk are nothing like the devastating truths he had extracted from his victims.
There are no misconceptions like there are with sex. No-one is thinking about a possible future together during torture. There were no tears when Cortez ended his relationship with his victims. They didn't beg him for one last chance to try and work things out. They looked at him with gratitude and relief. Some of them kissed his hand as joyous tears spilled from their eyes.
When they thought about the broken and agonising state their bodies were in, Cortez's victims realised there was no greater compassion a human being could show than to end their suffering. No lover's caress brought them anywhere near the relief Cortez did when he finally ended their lives.
And yet he had always been paid for this pleasure. Which, when he thought about it, made him little better than the women who worked in this brothel. They traded in their own tawdry and limited pleasures, much as he had. Taking lovers as he had victims, indiscriminately as long as he was paid.
He didn't betray it in his face or the way he stood, but it was this that annoyed him most about Greaves taking him to the brothel. Greaves was his paymaster. He went where Greaves asked him, irrespective of what he felt.
Cortez thought it ironic that even in these times, when Allah sought to test the faithful through plague and famine, that the world's oldest profession continued to thrive.
"What's your pleasure?" said a woman's voice over the intercom.
Greaves bent down to speak into the metal box, leaning against the reinforced steel door. "We're here to see Mr Edwards, the owner. About a… err, monetary transaction."
"Just a minute."
A CCTV camera, mounted above the door, swivelled round to get them both in shot. Cortez was impressed by the security. It wouldn't have come cheap. Seems sex sold well even after the world had ended.
Greaves straightened up and adjusted his glasses, looking out over the ruins of the traditional stone houses and churned up lawns of what had once been an exclusive suburb of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
"This part of town used to be real popular with the pharmaceutical execs you know," he said. "That's where all the money was out here. That and steel of course."
Cortez nodded silently. He didn't have anything of value to add. Greaves knew a lot more than he did. He was smart. Perhaps the smartest person Cortez had ever met. He was short and scrawny and he couldn't fight for shit, but the smarts Allah had granted him were as deadly as any weapon Cortez knew.
"They're taking their time aren't they?" said Greaves, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. "Damn this pollen!" He swore and began rummaging for pills in the pockets of his greatcoat. He never took it off, even though it was high summer and the sweat stuck his mousey brown hair to his forehead.
"Okay, step inside," said the voice over the intercom.
The door buzzed and Greaves pushed it open. Cortez followed him into a cage of reinforced steel. Four shotgun barrels were pointed directly at them. Four dangerous women, with very little clothing, had a bead on them.
"Gentlemen," said a deep male voice from the shadows. "You'll be dead 'fore you even reach for your weapons. So I suggest you take out whatever you're packing – nice and slow mind – and toss it through these here bars. With the safety on."
Cortez didn't like the odds. He looked over at Greaves to see how they were going to play it. Greaves nodded for him to disarm. Cortez pulled out a Colt. 45 from the holster under his robes and the sawn-off shotgun he had strapped to his back. Greaves pulled out the snub-nosed pistol Cortez had given him. He held it like it scared him.
"Is this how you put the safety on?" he asked, showing Cortez the pistol.
All four women dropped a bullet into their chambers and aimed at Greaves. He went very pale.
"You need to press the lever forwards," Cortez told him, remaining calm.
"It's okay, it's okay," Greaves said holding the pistol away from him. "Don't shoot I'm not going to try anything." His hands shook as he fumbled with the safety before dropping the gun through the bars.
"Y'know fellas," said the man in the shadows. "There's a lot of cunts on sale in this place, but I'm not one of them. Think I don't know you're holding out on me? I wanna see every piece on the floor, in front of these bars."
Greaves looked confused and panicked. He turned to Cortez. Cortez shrugged, bent down and took the pistol out of his ankle holster. Then he reached into his belt and removed the Bowie knife he kept there.
"That's better," said the voice. Lights came on in the reception area revealing a hallway done out in plush velvet and gilt brocade. Edwards, the owner of the brothel, was standing at the bottom of a baronial staircase.
He was a big guy and, although he was carrying a lot of weight, he looked like he could move pretty fast when he had to. He was wearing shorts, slippers and a loud Hawaiian shirt. Beads of sweat stood out on his bald pate and what little hair he had was tied in a pony tail at the back.
Edward's arms were spread in welcome and he was smiling the type of broad smile you wear when you're just about to fuck someone good. "Welcome to the Pleasuredrome. Excuse the gals, they're not used to being up before noon and they're kinda tetchy until they've had their coffee."
The cage doors clicked, whirred and swung open. Greaves entered and Cortez followed. Two of the women bent down to pick up the weapons, the other two kept theirs trained on the visitors.
"Can I you gentlemen anything to drink?" Edwards said, beckoning for them to follow him. "A little champagne perhaps, maybe something harder?"
The two women followed as they walked down a corridor off the main hall, shotguns still primed.
"I'll just have a glass of water," Greaves said.
Edwards chuckled. "Got ourselves a real party animal here gals." He slapped Greaves on the back. "Just busting your balls buddy, guess it is a little early in the day for some people, lightweights that is." Edwards turned to Cortez. "How about you big guy, what's your poison?"
"I do not drink." Cortez said. He trusted Edwards even less for his attempts to ply them with alcohol.
"Is that a South American accent I hear?" Edwards said, probing. "That's some beard you got there Fidel. You ain't one of the last surviving commies are you?"
Cortez started to lose his cool. He did not feel comfortable in this place of carnal sin and Edwards' attempt to rile him were beginning to work. "La ilaha illa Allah," he said aloud. Partly to put Edwards in his place, and partly to collect himself and ward off the stench of the wrongdoers. "Muhammadur rasoolu Allah!"
Edwards stopped at the door of his office. For a second he lost his composure, surprise burst out on his face. Then he pulled himself together and laughed as he unlocked the door. "Seems we got ourselves a Muslim girls." Edwards motioned for them to take a seat. "Don't have too many of those where you come from, I'll bet."
Greaves took a seat and leaned towards Edwards. Cortez remained standing. The two women kept him in their sights.
"Is that entirely necessary?" said Greaves. "You have our weapons. We're simply here on business."
Edwards waved a hand and the girls put their weapons at their sides. They stood at the back of the room, looking bored, irritable and tense. Not a good combination in armed women, Cortez noted.
"Don't mind them," said Edwards. "They're only hanging around in case you want to party when we're done. On the house of course." Edwards laughed when he saw their reactions. "What, you never had a blow job from a gal with a gun on you? Jesus, you guys like it vanilla don't you?"
Greaves cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should get down to business."
"Ah yes, I have some merchandise that you're interested in, I understand." Edwards leaned back in his chair and smiled his 'I'm gonna fuck you' smile again. "The big question is, how interested are you?"
"I believe I agreed a price with your associate," Greaves said. "I have the goods ready. Perhaps we could see her?"
"Now hold on there junior. You talked about the price with one of my lackeys. No-one said he was authorised to name an amount. Let's just say, what you've brought today, that's a down payment."
"What!" said Greaves sitting upright, his voice carried a sudden weight of authority. "We had a deal. I've upheld my side of the bargain. I expect you to honour yours."
"Hey, hey, calm down there junior," said Edwards holding up a placatory hand. "Now I understand how it is. You've gotten yourselves all psyched up. You probably went to sleep last night thinking about all the things you're going to do with her. And she is something, believe me. I don't go for Injuns much myself, but she is well worth a look. Whatever you've got in mind, hey that's fine with me, I'm not gonna judge you. Thing is though, you're wanting to buy this girl outright, not rent her, and I can still earn a fuck of a lot out of her. She's young, she's clean and she ain't injured any. That's a big chunk out of my profits and I need reimbursing. I got overheads you know, protection to pay. I put a lot of money into my girls."
"She's a slave," said Greaves with disdain. "You keep her chained to a wall and you feed her slops."
"Hey I'm not judging you, so don't you get all high and mighty with me you little pissant! We cater for a lot of exclusive tastes in this establishment. The slaves are a lucrative service. A lot of my customers will be disappointed to see her go. They might even take their business elsewhere. So you gotta make it worth my while. Hand over the goods you brought to trade and when you raise some more you can come back and we can talk about letting you have her."
"What if we just take our goods and leave?" Greaves said.
"Now that just ain't gonna happen," said Edwards with his biggest 'fuck you' smile yet.
The two women stepped forward and levelled the barrels of their shotguns at Greaves' temple.
That was their first mistake.
Before they could react Cortez stepped around behind them and grabbed the barrels of both weapons. He pulled them back and up, driving the butts into their faces.
He was right on target with the woman on his right. The butt hit the base of her nose. It exploded in a hot burst of blood and the bridge cracked, driving shards of bone into her brain. She was dead before her body hit the floor.
The woman on his left caught the butt on the side of her face. There was a crack as her cheek broke and her right eye rolled up into its socket. She fell to the ground, dazed and twitching.
Cortez swung both shotguns round and pointed them at Edwards, just in time to see him pull an ivory handled Magnum out of his desk. Cortez unloaded one shotgun and blew a hole in his left wrist. Edwards shrieked as blood and cartilage sprayed the floor, dropping the gun. He ducked behind the desk and grabbed the Magnum with his good hand, firing at Cortez's foot.
Cortez leaped back and Greaves cowered behind his chair while Edwards made a bolt for the door. He ran out into the corridor, screaming at the top of his voice. "Trixie, Fifi, Jezebel, Chelsea, get your skanky ol' asses out here! We got trouble!"
Cortez hauled up the unconscious woman. She moaned at the pain as she regained consciousness. "Where is the girl?" He demanded.
The woman shook her head. "What girl? I don't know who you mean."
"She's a Native American," said Greaves getting to his feet. "She's called Anna. We know you've got her prisoner here."
"I can't think. I'm hurt too bad."
"Take us to the girl Anna," Cortez said, leaning in close. "Or you will know what it really feels like to be hurt too bad."
"They're… they're all kept in the basement next to the dungeon," she murmured before passing out again.
Cortez walked to the door and stuck his head slowly round just as a stream of bullets tore up the frame. Jumping back he collided with Greaves.
"We can't leave," Greaves said, picking up his glasses. "They've got us pinned down. We have to make them come to us." He thought for a minute. "How many of them did you see?"
"I was too busy dodging their bullets to count."
"Edwards called out four names. So there's at least that many coming for us. We're at the end of a corridor with no other exit. We're outnumbered and outgunned." Greaves hit Cortez with his fierce blue eyes. "There's got to be a way to turn that to our advantage."
Linda could have kicked herself when she came to. If she hadn't been too trussed up to move her legs and if her head hadn't felt like someone was doing all the kicking for her.
She was lying on her side on a cold stone floor. Her wrists and ankles were tied behind her. She arched her back to stretch her legs and relieve the cramp in her thighs. This tightened the rope and cut off the circulation to her hands. She felt for how it was tied with her fingers. Luckily it was a bondage knot that she knew. She found the right end of the rope and pulled. Her bonds uncoiled and she was free.
Thank God for pervy clients, she thought as she got to her feet and massaged the life back into her wrists. She was in a dark, confined space. She reached in front of her and felt what seemed like shelves and broom handles. She smelt bleach. Linda was in a broom closet. She'd been tied up and dumped in a broom closet.
Time to get some payback.
She fumbled her way over to the door and tried it. It wasn't locked. It opened on to a dimly lit basement. Across the way from the closet was a door marked 'DUNGEON', meaning she had to be in the Pleasuredrome. That's why she was tied bondage style. Sloppy of them really, her being a pro and all. They had to know she'd be able to get loose. They must have thought she'd be out for longer and were going to come back with better shackles.
She'd known there was something wrong with her clients the night before. They said they were visiting traders who wanted a three-way and they had a bundle of drugs to trade for it. She should have listened to her gut. They didn't seem that interested in her sexually and they knew their way around too well to be visitors.
They must have slipped her something after she had climbed into their car. She should never have taken a drink from them. Served her right for being careless.
Edwards had been after her to join his girls for a while now. Linda knew he didn't like independent competitors, but she never thought he'd resort to kidnap. She worked strictly downtown. Out of his way and away from his high-end clients.
Those clients had tastes that were too specialised for Linda. She had no illusions about what would happen if she couldn't get out of her current situation. She knew all about the girls he kept as slaves.
Linda walked slowly and quietly through the basement, scanning the gloom for any means of escape. It was a huge space, and covered more ground than the building above. It had obviously been specially excavated. The only doors she could find seemed to lead either into the well equipped dungeon area or into a series of tiny cells. She didn't want to think about who was kept there, or what the poor wretches were going through.
Something caught her eye over by the far wall. Linda peered at it, then turned away. Something drew her back however and she was glad it did. When she got closer she could see there was a hardboard panel nailed over a gap in the ceiling.
Linda fetched a wooden spanking paddle from the dungeon and pried the panel loose. About a metre above there was a grill leading to the outside. Linda pulled herself up and tried it. It was stuck fast. She tried to use the paddle to jimmy it but it broke. It would take more than one person to shift the grill.
Fuck! She was so close.
Changing tactics she hunted round and found the staircase. Making her way carefully up, she tested each step to make certain it didn't creak. The door at the top was locked, but only with a chub lock. Linda slid a thin section of the snapped paddle down between the door and the jamb, releasing the lever. Then she pulled the door open just a fraction and peeked out.
A gun went off and she jumped back. This was followed by a lot of yelling.
She heard footsteps in the corridor outside. She waited until they were nearly upon her, then opened the door fully and stuck out her foot. One of Edward's girls hit the floor face-first and dropped the weapons she'd been carrying.
Linda jumped her. She knelt on the girl's spine then reached around the front of her throat with her right forearm and held the back of her throat with the left. Bending her wrist inwards she squeezed her arms together, restricting the carotid arteries. With the blood to her brain cut off, the girl kicked a couple of times then lost consciousness.
Linda got up and inspected the weapons the girl was carrying. "Come to momma," she said as she picked up a sawn-off shotgun, two pistols, a Colt. 45 and a Bowie knife.
Now she was armed as well as dangerous.
"Come on out honey," called one of the girls from up the corridor. "I got something for ya."
"I love you looong time," cried another. "Kill you quick."
Cortez was standing by the door. It was opened into the corridor to block the girls' view of the office. He said nothing and looked over at Greaves who was going through the drawers of Edward's desk.
"Seems Edwards has some exotic tastes." Greaves said, holding up a set of throwing knives and some shackles.
"I don't see how this helps us."
Greaves smiled and handed Cortez all but one of the knives. "I need you to use these to pin our dead friend here to the door," he said and gestured to the woman on the floor.
Cortez shrugged and picked up the body. Greaves applied the shackles to the unconscious woman.
Propping the dead woman against the door, Cortez held her left arm above her. Taking one of the knives he drove it through her wrist and into the wood behind it. He repeated this with her other wrist and both her feet. The body hung, crucified, against the door.
"Now give me a hand with this," said Greaves, struggling to lift the unconscious woman.
Cortez picked up the woman and Greaves directed him to hang her wrist shackles from the coat hook beside her friend. Kneeling, Greaves began to remove the screws from the hinges.
"Steady the door," he told Cortez. "Now we make them come to us. When I say go, we pick up the door and walk backwards to the far wall at an angle, using the door and the bodies as a shield." Greaves slapped the unconscious woman hard across the face. She groaned at the pain and came to. "Go!"
Cortez and Greaves lifted the door. They staggered backwards as a hail of bullets thudded into the wood. Most of them hit Cortez's side of the door. The bullets tore through but the corpse stopped any that might have hit Cortez.
As they reached the far wall two bullets connected with the woman Greaves was using for shelter, nicking her shoulder and smashing into the back of her thigh. "Aaaaah! Jesus – motherfucking – Christ!"
"Candy," called out one of the women from further up the corridor. "Candy is that you honey?"
Candy simply wailed in reply.
"Candy we're coming darlin'."
Cortez heard three sets of feet padding towards them.
"Come back you dumb bitches!" Edwards shouted.
"Now!" said Greaves, the second the footsteps stopped. He and Cortez kicked hard and the heavy oak door, with the combined weight of the two bodies, came crashing down on the three armed women. They collapsed, their guns clattering across the floor.
Cortez and Greaves ran over the door. Cortez grabbed two of the semi automatic weapons and Greaves picked up the other. They ran up the corridor firing indiscriminately.
Two women were caught by the spray of bullets. Their bodies jerked and flew backwards. Cortez and Greaves reached the hallway at the top of the corridor and looked around for more of them. There was no-one in sight.
Then Cortez heard an ominous click. He turned slowly to see Edwards with his Magnum at Greaves' temple. His wrist was wrapped with a makeshift bandage.
"Drop 'em big guy! Or your buddy here dies."
With great reluctance Cortez put down his weapons. Two of the women started climbing out from under the door behind them, moaning and cursing at their wounds. Three more came down the staircase, all of them armed.
"You sons of bitches are in some serious shit." Edwards said.
Linda had Edwards dead in her sights and she weighed up whether to pull the trigger or not.
She'd heard the catcalls and seen the gunfight in the corridor on the other side of the staircase. Edwards had hid and when the two men emerged he had got the drop on them. They were an odd looking couple. The runty one looked frightened and blinked through his glasses as Edwards held him at gunpoint. The big guy with him was a bit of an enigma – he was head and shoulders above everyone, including Edwards. He looked Hispanic, but he had a huge black beard and wore robes that looked Arabic. Linda had no idea what they were doing in this place, robbing it she supposed.
She kept Edwards in her sights as three more armed girls came down the stairs. Then she heard Edwards say: "We're gonna do far to worse to you than was ever done to that bitch you came to buy." That decided her. She wasn't certain why, but her gut told her which side she was on.
Linda unloaded the sawn-off shotgun into Edwards and blew his guts out the front of his body. Blood and ruptured intestines splattered into the wall opposite.
The girls on the stairs started firing and Linda ducked back. She heard the two guys return fire and a woman screamed.
Linda backed down the corridor as the men charged towards it. She was standing next to the girl she'd tied up when they saw her. The big guy raised his Uzi and Linda raised her hands. The runt saw the girl at her feet, put his hand on the big guy's weapon and made him lower it.
"Were you the one who helped us?" the runt said.
Linda nodded. "I don't work here. I was a prisoner but I broke out."
"We need to get to the basement."
"It's this way." Linda showed them through the door. She locked it behind them and used the sawn-off to wedge it shut.
"That is my weapon," said the big guy.
It was the first time she'd heard him speak. "Listen," she said. "If we get out of this alive I've got two more you can have, free of charge. And trust me honey, I rarely give anything free of charge."
"How are we going to leave now?" said the runt. "Is there another exit?"
"There's a grill over there, but I couldn't shift it by myself. It leads outside."
The runt nodded then made his way down the steps with the big guy. Linda followed.
They headed for the cells. Linda watched as the runt slid open a hatch on each of them and peered inside.
"This is her," he said after the fourth one.
He reached into his greatcoat and pulled out a small device that he inserted into the lock. He fiddled with the end of the device for a few seconds and gave it a sharp turn. The lock clicked and he pushed the door open.
Linda was surprised by the runt's reaction. He stood in the doorway with his mouth open, stunned. He looked like a groupie meeting her favourite rock star. "I can't believe I've finally found you. You've no idea how long it's taken."
Linda looked past him into the cell. The occupant wasn't anywhere near as awe-inspiring as she seemed to the runt. She was a petrified Native American girl, half starved and in her late teens. The chains on her wrists and ankles ran through a ring in the ceiling and around a winch; most probably to allow the client to control what position she was in.
The girl shrank from the two men the minute she saw them. Greaves knelt down and tried his skeleton key in one of her ankle shackles but the girl kicked out in fear and knocked him on his back. "Shit," he said when he got up and looked at the key. "She snapped it."
"You want me to get her out of these?" the big guy said, holding up the chains. The runt nodded.
The girl tried to pull away from them while the runt tried to calm her. "Listen, Anna," he said. "It's okay. We're not here to hurt you. My name's Greaves and this is Cortez. We've come to get you out."
Cortez reached out to Linda's belt, and without thinking she pulled the bowie knife on him. "Getting a little fresh aren't we?"
Cortez stopped but he didn't pull back his hand. "You have my gun," he said pointing at the Colt. 45. "I need it to break these chains."
Linda took it from her belt and handed it to him. "You know men usually have to pay to get their pistol in my trousers," she said playfully. Cortez met her flirting with a cold stare and turned away. Obviously plays for the other team, she thought.
Cortez caught hold of Anna's wrist. She cried out but her attempts to break free had no effect. He shot each of her chains off then picked her up like a child and flung her over his shoulder. She'd stopped fighting, but Linda could see that Anna's eyes were full of fear and mistrust.
"Hello… hello?" said a voice from another cell. "Is… is someone out there?" It was a woman with her face pressed against the grill. "Oh God you've got to take me with you. Please, I've got young children. There's no one to look after them. Please get me out of here."
Linda looked to Greaves who shook his head. "We haven't got time. She'll slow us down."
"And this one won't?" Linda said.
The door to the basement began to shake as something thudded into it from the other side.
"Quickly, show us this grill," said Greaves.
"Please," the woman in the cell called out. "Please don't leave me here. You don't know what they do to me… please…"
Linda tried not to listen as she showed them the potential exit. Cortez heaved at it but it remained stubbornly in place. The wood of the basement door splintered and gunfire raked the floor, inches from them. Greaves and Linda franticly joined the effort, and the grill gave as they heard the door give way and the first set of feet start to descend.
They scrambled through the tight opening. Anna first, then Greaves and Linda. A hand caught hold of Cortez's leg as he was leaving. He shot it away, shattering the knuckles.
They came out into a parking lot surrounded by a wooded copse. Greaves and Cortez, with Anna over his shoulder, raced to their vehicle then stopped in dismay. The tyres had been slashed.
"Quick, into the trees," said Linda. They followed her as armed women raced around the building and into the lot. The gun-toting prose tried to follow but weren't dressed for the rough terrain and soon lost their prey.
The copse continued in a steep ascent for a while and then gave out onto a highway. Greaves turned to Linda as they reached it. "We need a vehicle to get us out of the State. Can you help?"
"I may be able to but why would I want to? You boys look like you've got yourselves into a lot of trouble."
"Three reasons," Greaves said. "Firstly, Edwards had a lot of powerful friends who will want to get even with you for shooting him. Secondly I can pay you really well." He rooted through his greatcoat and came out with two gold coins. "These are Krugerrands from South Africa, they're pure gold," he said handing them to her. "This is just a down payment. And thirdly you'll be helping to save the world."
Linda nearly laughed out loud at that last statement but she could see from Greaves' eyes that he was deadly earnest.
"Follow me," she said.
Three hours and a lot of walking later they stood outside a lock-up on the north bank of the Susquehanna River. Linda unlocked the door and led them inside.
There, under a tarpaulin, was her baby. She tugged at the cover to reveal Bertha: A Fleetwood, 40E motor home, covered with customised bullet-proof armour plating. She came complete with onboard arsenal. There wasn't another vehicle like her on the road.
"Very nice," said Greaves inspecting the custom bodywork. "Where did you get it?"
"A grateful client. He didn't like his next of kin so he left Bertha and her contents to me."
She opened the vehicle up and Greaves and Cortez climbed in. Cortez put Anna down on a couch. She pulled her knees up under her chin and sat rocking, staring straight ahead.
"We've got enough gas in the tank to get us out the state," said Linda. "Where we headed?"
"Montana." Greaves said.
"That's on the other side of the country. We'll have to cross at least seven States to get there."
"I can make it very worth your while."
"Okay it's your money. So Anna, is she your relative, your lover or what?"
"We've never seen her before," said Greaves.
"So why'd you go to such trouble to rescue her?"
Greaves looked over at the traumatised sex slave. She was crying and shaking and snot ran down her top lip.
"Because," he said. "She is the future saviour of humankind."